


Small Steps

by relic_amaranth



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, F/M, Fights, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Kidnapping, Light Angst, M/M, Other, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 23:17:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16649728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relic_amaranth/pseuds/relic_amaranth
Summary: Everything is going great– you’re doing all right in life and your boyfriend, one Steve Rogers, is always a bright and shining light regardless. However on one otherwise wonderful date Steve starts acting squirrely, then disappears on you for a week. It’s worrisome but nothing you haven’t handled before.Except then you get to find out firsthand just how unstable the Tesseract can be when a supposedly long-dead enemy of Steve’s walks into your life in a most unwelcome way. Apparently growing as a couple means you inherit some of Steve’s shitty luck.Oh joy.





	Small Steps

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Kidnapping, fluff, use of the Cosmic Cube for story purposes that requires extra suspension of disbelief, Reader is meant to be gender-neutral but ‘sweetheart’ is the term of endearment used for them
> 
> Place in MCU Timeline: An alternate post-‘CA: TWS’ fic with Bucky as an Avenger.
> 
> A/N: I wanted to space out my “Captain America” stuff but my Gabriel thing isn’t finished yet. So here we are! Anyways. This thing. Turned out way different than I intended. When I started it I wanted to write something reminiscent of a cartoon episode– adventure, a little touch of seriousness, a lot of fun, old enemies coming back, vague impractical science– but while it hits those marks it didn’t quite make it tonally like I wanted. I still like it; it’s just not quite what I meant to do. However if you can go along with the dumb ‘science,’ I think it’s still kind of fun, and it’s still fluffy Reader/Steve Rogers in a way I’ve wanted to do for a while. Please enjoy. (Also, a mental kudos to those who can spot my Hugo Weaving Easter egg.)

 

Blanket: check.

Food: check check check.

Boyfriend: …

You look at your phone in case there’s been an emergency, but no new notifications have popped up and the time is past what you agreed to meet at. As you’re putting your cell back down, though, you hear someone approaching, and soon enough the wall of awkward muscle otherwise known as Steven Grant Rogers shimmies through the bushes. You can’t tell if he thinks he’s small enough to go through them, or if he thinks he’s big enough for them not to matter. Either way, he ends up dusting leaves off himself and pointedly ignoring the opening by the tree he _could_ have walked around.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says and drops to his knees to give you a kiss.

“I haven’t been waiting that long. Also: hi.” You smile at him and open your arms to show off everything. “What do you think?”

“I think it looks amazing, sweetheart,” he says and barely glances at it, instead keeping his gaze focused on you.

“Well, I know what _I_ am, but what about the spread?” you tease.

The joke is dumb but his laugh is genuine, and he wraps an arm around you. “It looks great. You even got the wicker basket.”

“Go big or go home,” you say, and the two of you dig in.

Dating Steve Rogers is an…experience. A good one, but an experience that comes with its own challenges nonetheless, and those make you constantly on alert for when his phone might ring, for an explosion or shout in the distance that might take him from you yet again. This is something you’ve come to expect when your boyfriend dons a cowl and shield more famous than he himself is.

Still, you wouldn’t have it any other way. While it’s a little sad the world gives more credit to Captain America than Steve Rogers, it allows for moments like this where the two of you can sit in the park unbothered, feeding each other pieces of fruit and only half-hidden from the world.

“This is the best,” Steve says in a sigh, his head in your lap.

“I agree.” You run your fingers through his hair. The way he looks at you, with so much adoration– like you’re everything– is overwhelming. And wonderful.

“I feel like I could stay here forever,” he says like he’s in a dream.

“It’d probably get pretty cold eventually.”

“Not with you,” he says. He puts his hand over yours and laces your fingers together. “You ever…you ever think of spending more time together?”

“Um, all the time,” you say. What a strange question. “We pretty much steal every moment we can.”

“Maybe not _every_ moment,” he says. But he stares at you and doesn’t say more. You quickly realize his attention, despite his gaze, isn’t really on you.

“Steve?” you prompt and he blinks. He opens his mouth but shuts it, frowns, and sits up so fast you lean back to avoid meeting his face in a very unpleasant way. “Steve?” you repeat.

“Did you hear that?” he says and looks around.

You do your best, but all you can hear are some annoying birds, children playing in the distance, and a mix of conversations too low and far away to understand. “Sorry, Steve, but it’s the park on a nice day. I’m gonna need you to be more specific.”

He frowns deeper. “It sounded like a–”

His phone rings and makes you both jump. It’s the actual, real ring that Tony has set for himself in Steve’s phone– because Steve’s ‘old’ and Tony thinks he’s hilarious. He had better be _something_ to interrupt your date.

“Wow Steve,” you say as he fumbles to silence it. “You can hear a major annoyance before it even happens. You must have superpowers or something.”

He rolls his eyes but he’s smiling even as he picks up the call. “Rogers,” he says crisply and you start to pack up. The phone call goes about how you expect– hushed words and slowly rising hackles, until Steve’s shoulders slump, Atlas bending under the weight again, and he says, “Do we have any time?”

He looks relieved. “One hour, then. Thanks Tony.” Aaaaand he’s annoyed again. “Good _bye_ , Tony.”

He hangs up and shakes his head, but puts his phone away and picks up the basket. “Duty calls?” you ask and start folding up the blanket.

Steve, waiting to the side, snorts. “Tony is so far from duty it’s not even funny.”

“A _little_ funny,” you say and hug the blanket.

Steve swipes it from you, squeezes it between the picnic basket top and handle, and extends his free arm to you. “Okay, maybe a little.”

Even walking back to your apartment, you have enough time for at least a twenty-minute make-out. It would have been nice to do it in the fresh air, but, honestly, it’s good anywhere. Steve is big and strong but soft and gentle. You could stay like this forever.

When the timer goes off you and Steve both pull back with almost identical groans of regret. Still, you fix his hair to the best of your hand-combing abilities, and he straightens his shirt.

“Call me when you can,” you say, unmotivated to leave his lap.

“I will.”

“Don’t be reckless.”

“I won't.”

“Come home safe,” you say, throat tightening at the thought of anything else.

Steve hears it, because of course he does, and he holds your face with large, gentle hands. “I will,” he says, like it’s a promise, but without _actually_ promising. Still, it’s enough to set you at a standard sort of ease, and you extricate yourself from his hold just as someone knocks.

“Movie night when I get back?” he says as he heads to the door.

“I’ll pick something out,” you say. “Be safe.”

He gives you one last smile before he’s gone.

 

* * *

It’s been over a week since Steve left and you are about to lose your mind.

He had called barely a few hours in, saying that it seemed pretty easy as far as most jobs went, and he should be home in a few days. Bucky had even chimed in, teasing and light, and then they went dark.

Now it’s onto a week and a half and you have heard absolutely _nothing_ since. Without knowing what they have been doing, but knowing Steve would never go incommunicado without a very, very, very good reason, you can do nothing but wait. And it _sucks_.

You let out a sigh and fumble with tired fingers to unlock your door. Throwing yourself into work and chores has only stolen so much of your attention, but at least it leaves you too tired to be conscious for long. Not that even unconsciousness can keep you from worrying. You wouldn’t give Steve up for anything in the world, but goddamn, you _really_ hate that costume sometimes.

You slide out of your jacket and go to shut the door, but a hand from outside snakes right in and catches it and a man– or something _like_ a man– forces himself into your apartment and slams the door shut.

You stumble back, unable to take your eyes from him. You should call for help but his _face_ – it’s like it’s only a skull with a thin veneer of flesh pulled over it. And it’s red. A name pops into your head but that’s– it’s not _possible._

“Who–” ‘what,’ you want to ask, “–are you and what the fuck are you doing in my home?”

“My goodness; history classes aren’t doing their jobs well, are they?” the guy ‘tut-tut’s and walks towards you. You walk backwards and don’t dare take your eyes off of him. You hesitate to let him anywhere _near_ you.

“Oh, I know. Gruesome, isn’t it?” He strokes his chin. “The serum can’t make us all as beautiful as your Captain Rogers.”

Having an inkling is one thing. Having confirmation is another. “It’s not possible,” you say and almost trip over the couch. You turn to run for the bedroom but he punches the wall in front of your face. You yelp and turn the other way but his other arm is there, caging you in, and you press your head and back flat against the wall as he leans in.

“So you do know who I am.” Johann Schmidt– The Red Skull– grins and he’s even more grisly. “Good. I’ll make this quick then– you know who I am and what I’m capable of. I have a van waiting on the street outside, full of operatives with very sensitive trigger fingers. If you come with me willingly they will be driven away without stepping foot on the ground. If you resist I will call for them, and they will eliminate _every_ potential witness in this building.”

You fume because ‘overkill’ could not be more literal in this case, and he doesn’t need Hydra operatives to handle you. He’s terrifying enough on his own. Still. “Even using words like ‘Nazi,’ Steve really didn’t pay enough attention to what an _asshole_ you are.”

“That’s something we can discuss on the way.” He smirks and stands up straight. “Well?”

“I’ll come,” you manage to grit out.

“Excellent choice,” he says. He grabs your jacket and helps you back into it. Your skin crawls but at least now you have a buffer when he links his arm in yours and escorts you out. There are some armed people making sure you get out unnoticed, and you barely breathe until you’re out back and a dark van drives away.

You go back to silently panicking when a limo pulls up in its place. More worrisome is that two armed goons get out to let you in. The limo isn’t filled to capacity but it ends up with you and the Red Skull facing each other, two guys on either side of you, and the two men who had stepped out returned to the back seat. All of them are military-looking and armed likewise.

“Seems excessive,” you comment lightly, eyeing one of the ridiculous guns.

“I wasn’t sure what to expect,” he says, pulling off his gloves. “After the likes of Peggy Carter, I must admit, you are disappointingly average.”

Your stomach twists up. “Yeah, well, one of these things is not like the other. I’m just a friend.”

He laughs and pulls out a phone. “Forgive me; I know I’m relatively new to this time, but…”

He holds the phone out to you and you lean in closer. The image on the screen is a little blurry and grainy so you squint. Is that a park? And a couple of people…

You gasp and sat right back when you recognize that place, that _day_. “Very friendly indeed,” Schmidt says and slips the phone back in his coat pocket.

“How did you–”

“How long have you been involved with Captain Rogers?”

“Not that long.”

“There’s no need to hide it.” He taps his phone pocket. “The picture is bad quality, but the scene itself was quite romantic. He cares very much for you.”

You really, really cannot hate that implication more. “He has a team to watch his back.”

“I have to wonder how ‘inspired’ they are by their leader at the moment. Given his…‘delicate’ state.”

Your stomach sinks. “What?”

“Oh. You don’t know.” He smiles, mocking and cruel. “Unsurprising, really. I imagine they’re trying to keep what happened a very close secret.”

“What did you do to him?”

“Oh, I simply took him for a trip down memory lane.” He chuckles. “You’ll see.”

 

* * *

You can’t see much, tied to a pillar in the depths of a drafty old underground parking garage, so you assume he was being rhetorical.

“Are you comfortable?”

Case in point.

You grunt into the gag pulled tight between your teeth, and attempt to pull on the restraints. There is absolutely no give which, yeah, figures. Your wrists and ankles were bound before you were strapped to the column and, thankfully, don’t seem to have impeded bloodflow (yet), but between those and the _chains_ wrapped around your upper body and thighs that hold you against the stone, you are definitely not going anywhere.

“Excellent,” he says, _smiles_ , (because that face can always be creepier), and turns to bark orders at his underlings.

The level is crawling with black-clad mercenary jerks– from what you can see in the dim lighting. You’re far away from any entrances, in a corner that doesn’t smell like anything other than concrete. On one hand– yay. On the other hand– this place is so out of the way even shelter-seeking homeless people and miscreant teenagers don’t use it for anything. Honestly, you could be anywhere, now that you think of it; Schmidt had knocked you out a few minutes into the ride and you had woken, tied up on the floor of the car just before they had dragged you out and pinned you here.

“Leave a few guards here, just in case,” Schmidt says. “But place most of them on the second level. He’ll never get all the way here.”

With that, you are left with only a few gunmen for company. And with that: worry. What did Red Skull do to Steve that makes him think _three guys_ – even armed to the teeth– would be any match for Steve? You’ve seen him on the news taking out ten at a time and felt perfectly relaxed. What is happ-

One of the guards cries out and crumples, jerking like he’s having a seizure before falling still. Another one does the same just moments later, and the last fires a few shots before a slight-figured shadow throws a small silver thing that attaches and electrocutes him so thoroughly that he falls at your feet. A little too close, for how he’s sparking.

The person comes out and you expect Natasha. Maybe Clint.

You do not expect a five-foot-something slender blond man with a _very_ familiar face.

If it could, your jaw would drop open. As it is, you can barely speak even after he removes the gag. “St- _Steve_?!”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he says, short and quiet, like he’s _embarrassed_.

‘Memory lane,’ huh. What an asshole. Still, Steve leans in to kiss you and this is one good, familiar thing so you stretch your neck to take and reciprocate. Only, he pulls back suddenly and says, “S-sorry,” and in what topsy-turvy world do you live in where your boyfriend stops himself from kissing you and _apologizes_ for it?

Well, probably the one where you’re tied to an enormous stone support in an underground parking garage. Right. Stupid priorities. You swallow your disappointment– you’ll have plenty of time for comforting make-outs later. “Well. That explains Red Face von Gloating.”

“Are you all right?” Steve asks as he cuts through the ropes on your wrists and ankles.

“Yeah, fine,” you say and shimmy, but the chains are tight and in awkward spots. “Please tell me you have a plan beyond ‘just show up like the bad guy told me t-’ what is _that_?”

“Don’t worry,” Steve says and puts the weird-looking _welding torch_ against the metal. “I got it from Tony’s lab.”

That’s not as reassuring as he thinks. You’ve seen Tony’s lab. But you’ll give him the benefit of the doubt, if only for your own peace of mind. “Is that where you got the little silver things too?”

“New Widow’s Bites that Tony was working on.” Steve grimaces. “Natasha’s going to kill me.”

She’ll have to get in line. You see no one, but that’s not reassuring– especially when the metal doesn’t give, even under the efforts of Tony’s toy. “Let’s get back to the part where you absolutely _waited for backup, right_?”

Steve does not look at you. “I’ll see how this works on the lock,” he says and darts behind the pillar.

“Steve!” you hiss and turn your head. Of all the–

“There was no time! And they never would have let me come.”

“Yes, imagine that, keeping the bad guy from getting what he wants. Seriously Steve?!”

“I won't let him hurt you.”

Stubborn little– “I don’t want him to hurt _you_! You need to–!”

Cold metal presses against your temple and you freeze. The slight clanking goes quiet, the chains still, and Steve whispers your name with dread.

“Come out, _Captain Rogers_ ,” Red Skull says, holding the gun steady as Steve steps out, hands up.

“Let them go, Schmidt,” Steve says, unfairly calm for a guy with ten guns on him, and _while_ getting frisked. He winces only slightly. “They’re an innocent civilian; they’ve got nothing to do with this.”

“They inserted themself into this the day they fell in love with Captain America,” Schmidt sneers but he takes the gun from your head. “Perhaps, though, if they disavow you…”

Schmidt grabs Steve and yanks him easily in front of him to face you. Steve moves to fight, but stops when the gun is pointed at you again. “It shouldn’t be difficult. You haven’t known he’s been like this for nearly a week, so how much does he trust you, truly?”

You flinch. A _week_? Steve’s face turns almost as red as Schmidt’s. “You–” is all he growls out before one of the henchmen slams the butt of his gun into Steve’s head.

“Steve!” You try to go to him on instinct but, of course, in vain. They grab him and two men hold him up as he bleeds and tries to stay conscious. You’ve never seen him in so much pain; it hurts _you_ to see it.

Schmidt points the gun at your chest. “Renounce him and you can live. All you have to do is tell me how you loathe him and I will set you free.”

Steve groans out your name. “Do it. Please.”

This is stupid. The whole thing is under such duress that you wonder how Schmidt could _possibly_ think Steve will take you seriously. But, well– the guy is deranged, so all you have to do is lie. It should be easy, even; just take the things you like about Steve and invert them. You’ll all know you’re lying and Schmidt _might_ (might; you doubt he’d just let you walk away) not kill you.

You open your mouth…but nothing comes out. You try again. “I…I…”

“Yes?” Schmidt says. He presses the gun against your skin. “I will not wait all night. Do it. Turn away from him, or die.”

Steve says your name again, pleading, and you make the mistake of looking at him again. Blood is streaming down his face, his small body is restrained by two big goons and draped in clothes too baggy for his skinny self, and big blue eyes are begging you to do your worst.

But you _can’t_. This is Steve, the man you love more than anything or anyone else, and you can’t let even an ounce of doubt worm into his brain. It’s stupid, but for whatever reason it’s asking too much.

Also, you reason, there is no way this crazy bastard is going to let you go no matter what. So why do what _he_ wants?

“Rot in hell, you fascist fuck,” you snap and stand straight, bracing yourself for the blast.

“Oh, so unwise,” Schmidt says and pulls the hammer.

Only to get clocked by a _real_ hammer.

You shut your eyes as the place fills with lightning and you can only hope you don’t become an accidental casualty. The air tingles and the lightshow goes on but you remain unstruck, and the sound of a battle fills the air. A bullet strikes stone next to your head and you yelp as the shards graze your cheek.

“Stay still!” Natasha orders as she races behind you. You choke a little at her harsh pulling on the chains. She comes back out, swearing, and touches her ear. “Stark, we could use a little firepower. These aren’t normal metal.”

Tony, as Iron Man, swings your way but as these jerks bring out the bigger, scarier version of a _Gatling gun_ , he wisely, thankfully, goes the opposite direction. However that still leaves you open and immobile in the middle of a firefight.

“Don’t move,” Natasha says sternly and leaves you.

“What?” you ask, only a _little_ panicked, you sw–

Steve’s shield slams into the stone column, cutting through the top chain and rattling you so much you almost fall forwards. But, Steve is right over there with Clint, so who–

Bucky races in, grabs the shield, and rips it out of the wall. _Oh_. “Sam!” he yells and throws it to Sam, who whirls like a goddamn Roman gladiator and throws it right back to cut the chain around your legs.

You look at Steve, stunned, and his smile is all fierce pride.

Then you remember that you're in the middle of a war zone, _underground_. Natasha pulls you over to Steve and Clint, and Sam and Bucky follow. You immediately latch onto Steve and don’t let go. He’s smaller, sure, but he’s still Steve and there’s no one in the universe you feel safer with.

“It’s okay; you’re okay,” he says and kisses your head. “We’re gonna get you out of here.”

“We’re getting you _both_ out of here,” Natasha interjects.

“But Schm–”

“Long gone,” Bucky grunts and pauses to reload. “And– _Steve_.”

There’s something meaningful in that but you don’t look up; you’re clinging to Steve and trying not to shake. You’re succeeding at the first, not so much with the second.

“Right. Right,” Steve says and sighs. He pulls on you and it takes you a moment to realize you need to stand with him, because he isn’t going to pull you up.

“Steve, what is going on?” you ask, helpless and hopelessly confused.

He squeezes you and despite the different body, the feeling itself is comfortingly familiar. Steve is here, Steve is holding you; Steve will keep you safe. For the moment, that’s all you need to know.

 

* * *

You’re feeling more like yourself now that you’re in the safety of Stark/Avengers Tower. More like yourself and more aggravated by the moment.

_“You haven’t known he’s been like this for nearly a week…so how much does he trust you?”_

A week. Fuck.

Steve comes in with a heavy sigh and plops onto the couch next to you. You scan him briefly. “So Natasha didn’t kill you.”

“Not yet.” He flashes you a crooked smile. “She’s waiting until I’m back to…normal.”

Normal. Right. _Normally_ you’d be curling up to Steve.

Normally Steve would have called and said something weird had happened but not to worry. And you would have been fine with that.

Normally.

“What happened– starting with the moment you left,” you say and turn to face him.

Steve looks apprehensive, and then looks away entirely. “We found a Hydra cell doing possible experimentation in a compound. The whole team went, just in case. It was– well, not exactly a trap, but they caught wind just before we arrived and they were in the middle of running. We cleared the place, bagged the operatives there for SHIELD, and freed some hostages. I got hit with…something. It didn’t do anything at first but within an hour I was in agony, and another hour later I was like…this.”

He takes a breath. You wait. “We stayed for a couple days, trying to figure out how to reverse it,” he says and looks at you. “Tony and Bruce grabbed everything relating to the tech they used. It’s a lot that’s over my head, but relates to energy from the Tesseract, and is also how Schmidt come to be here. What they shot me with was…targeted time travel, basically.”

“So you’re…” Your head hurts; this is stu- wait, _wait_. “Shit, why are you out and around _people_ with all these fucking _germs_ and–”

“Relax; it’s all right,” Steve says, grasping your hand, and waits for you to take a deep breath. “It was a weird thing to begin with, and imperfect. I’m as small as I was, but I’m not sick at all; it didn’t go back far enough to take out the serum completely. It’s going to reverse itself eventually.”

“Eventually.”

He shrugs. “Within a few days probably. Hopefully.”

“Hm.” There’s a lot to unpack. You’re not sure how to start.

“I’m so sorry.” Steve holds both of your hands. “I never thought he would come after you. I didn’t know he even knew you existed.”

“Apparently he likes to creep on couples at the park. He had pictures of our last date.” You heave a sigh. “I don’t really care about him though. I mean– I care; I have a hole in my wall thanks to him–”

“I’ll fix it,” Steve says eagerly. _Too_ eagerly.

“ _Steve_ ,” you say through grit teeth. He stops and you breathe. “So it took a few days to figure out what was happening. Where the hell did you go for the week after that?”

“Um…” Steve looks away again and that nagging sense in the back of your head becomes a full shrieking alarm. “Back…here.”

 _What_.

“You’ve been in town. For _days_ after being hit by a weapon that caused you _pain_ and changed you physically, and you…didn’t call me. Why.”

Steve says your name plaintively but fuck that. “ _Why_.”

“I…” He actually steels himself and sits up straighter. The way he does when he thinks he’s right. The fire inside your gut stokes itself to a blaze. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“I’ve _been_ worried. Did you get my texts? My voicemails?” You stand and pace, trying to work out some of the roiling aggression. “You went _dark_ Steve.”

“I’ve done it before,” he says. “For longer.”

“For life-and-death situations where a phone ringing can get you killed, not _after_ you get hit! Not while you’re staying in the same fucking city and recuperating! I am always, _always_ there!” Fucking hell; you’re close to furious tears so you stand in front of him and try to calm down. “So why didn’t you tell me? The _real_ answer please.”

“Really, I didn’t want you to worry. Look at me!” Steve says and gestures at his body.

“Yes, I noticed and sure I freaked out, but I calmed down as soon as you told me you can’t get sick like you used to,” you say. “I-I’m sorry, Steve; I can’t imagine how disorienting it is to have changed bodies yet again, but that’s the sort of thing you’ve come to me to talk about before. Why wouldn’t you come to me now, of all times?”

“We’re waiting on it to reverse itself, but we don’t know if it actually will. What if…” He looks at you, hard set but you can see the small spot of fear. “What if this is permanent?”

Jumping from one body to another and back again; you can’t imagine how disorienting this all is and platitudes will do nothing to soothe him. But you have to try something. “Steve, it’s going to be okay. I’m sure you’ll get back to yourself– however you need to be.”

“And if I don’t?” Steve says.

“Uh…” You have no idea how to respond. He sounds like he’s looking for answers, not reassurance. “I don’t know, Steve, this isn’t really my area of expertise, but you have a well-known voice by now and you don’t have to be big and tall to make a difference; I’m sure if this is how things stay then me and everyone will all be able to help you find a–”

You feel like you just got stabbed in the chest.

“You…” You have to swallow. “You’re not asking for yourself,” you say slowly. “You’re asking for me. What I’ll do. Like…you think I’ll dump you if you stay like this.”

Steve says your name and reaches, but you backpedal so hard you almost trip over your feet. “I can’t believe you. _I can’t believe you_.”

Steve says your name again, but at least he’s dropped Cold Captain for some emotion. Even if that emotion is panic. “It’s not–”

But he stops there. “You can’t even lie to me and tell me it’s not that. Can you?” you ask. He looks pained, but stays quiet. The knife twists deeper and you’re not sure which feels worse– the anger or the sadness. Both make for an impressively painful combo, and you can only bring yourself to about a whisper. “Why is it you would rather me think you were dead than know about this?”

He shakes his head. “It’s not like that, I swear,” he says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“I need space.” You start walking. It takes from the couch to the elevator, and then up a few floors, before you’re contained enough to be around people. It feels like you’re barely ready in time before the elevator opens and you enter the common area to see Tony, Pepper, and Natasha.

“Hey Tony, can I ask a favor?” you say. He’s just taken a drink and extends his arms. Before he can ruin it by speaking, you say, “Do you have a spare room?”

He frowns and you brace yourself. “You’re not staying with Rogers?” You’re not sure how much to divulge but Natasha spares you the choice and whispers in Tony’s ear. He recoils. “He didn’t _tell_ –”

“Tony,” you say, feeling bone tired. It’s been a very long day. Thankfully he seems to get that and talks to Jarvis, so you ignore Pepper’s sympathetic look and whatever Natasha is doing.

The latter comes forward to squeeze your shoulder. “Give me your key,” she says. “I’ll go get you clothes.”

You hand it to her mutely, and as she leaves, Tony says, “All right, I’ve got something five floors away from Rogers. Does it need to be further?”

“It just needs a bed and a door that locks,” you say. “Thanks Tony; I’m sorry if I’m putting you out.”

He waves it off. “Even if I didn’t have a million floors, we’d just kick Rogers to the couch and let you have his room.”

You force a small smile. “Thanks Tony.”

“Get some sleep kiddo. You look like Bruce after a science bender,” Tony says and you take your leave. A science bender. That sounds a lot more fun than the realization that the man you're in _love_ with thinks you’ll ditch him because he’s not big and buff. Fucking…

There’s a hot meal waiting in the kitchen when you reach the empty apartment. You debate going right to bed, but you decide you should probably eat something.

You’re still picking at it when someone knocks on the door. Your stomach churns at the few bites you’ve had. “Who is it, Jarvis?”

“Sergeant Barnes,” the AI says primly and you breathe a sigh of relief. Well, partial relief; he is Steve’s best friend, after all. “Shall I allow him in?”

“Yes. Please. Thank you.” You stab a piece of food with your fork and the door opens.

“Hey,” Bucky says gently. “I went with Nat to get you some clothes. We were totally proper; I swear.”

“There’s a first time for everything I guess.” The joke comes out flat, but Bucky chuckles politely. You stay where you are, hunched over food you don’t really want to eat.

Bucky comes over to drape an arm around you. “I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to eat that, not pick it apart to a molecular level.”

“Meh.” It is good, you think. You’re just not hungry. What if Steve thinks he’s right about you being fair weather? What if he thinks you’re a liability? What if…

Bucky squeezes you closer. “You okay?”

“I’ve had better days,” you say. “You?”

“Same.” He stays, and it’s nice. Not as nice as it could be, but Bucky is a good friend and you like having him around. You want Steve, though. After being kidnapped by one of his worst enemies– who is still on the fucking loose– you really want him close, but you…

“Bucky, why did he think…” You hold your head and stop. Bucky is your friend but he’s Steve’s first and you don’t want to put him in a bad place either; you just want to know _why_.

“Hey,” Bucky says and squeezes you tight. “I’m sorry. Nothing I can say right now is gonna come out right– it’ll either be throwing him under the bus or pushing you to work past it. As much as I wanna help, this is between you and Steve. But you love Steve and Steve loves you; I got faith the two of you will work it out. I know it.”

At this point, you can only hope.

 

* * *

You can’t sleep.

Today is officially the worst day _ever_.

Tony’s taste isn’t lacking in comfort in any way, yet you can’t seem to find a single ounce of it. The pillow isn’t right, the mattress isn’t right, the bed isn’t right, even the floor isn’t right and you’re ready to– well, not punch a wall, but do _something_ drastic.

Except, when you think about it, something drastic is the only thing that seems good. You give your common sense a few seconds to kick in and, when that fails, you get up.

 

* * *

Steve answers the door looking disheveled but just as awake as you. Clothes hang off him and he looks unfairly adorable when his big blue eyes get even bigger. You would make a joke about him being lucky he’s cute, but the thought just makes your scowl etch deeper into your face; you can _feel_ it. He says your name and smoothes back his hair. “What…what do you need?”

You sigh. And grumble. “You.”

“What?”

“Can’t sleep,” you say and stride past him for the bedroom. He follows a few paces behind, and stands hesitantly as you get into bed. With one sharp look, though, he scrambles in next to you, and Jarvis shuts off the lights. You still can’t sleep, but you feel a little less on edge with Steve beside you. Even if _he_ is nothing but a tight ball of nerves.

He’s even carefully monitoring his breathing, the goddamn adorable _jerk_. You sigh and turn on your side, and wrap your arms around him. He freezes for a moment, then relaxes and wraps his arms around you. “Are you…okay?” he asks.

“I’m…something.” You sigh. “But being kidnapped is traumatic enough and I need the company.”

“Jarvis is–”

“I feel safe with _you_.”

Steve inhales sharply, like he’s surprised.

You roll your eyes. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m still mad at you.”

“I understand,” he says. “I’m pretty mad at me too, right now.”

But that’s not going to fly, and you shift back so you can see his face in the slice of moonlight. “For the record,” you say, “Schmidt’s a moron. I didn’t fall in love with Captain America. I fell in love with Steve Rogers– the man who was running in the park and stopped to help correct my drawing. The guy who came back to sit and draw with me, who kept coming back, who was sweet and kind and somehow also the biggest smart-ass I’ve ever known. That guy. That’s _my_ guy.”

Steve’s eyes widen. You swallow. “I can’t imagine how jarring it is to get tossed between bodies, but _this_ …” you put your hand on his chest, “…is still Steve Rogers. You may piss me off sometimes– if you didn’t I’d call ‘imposter’– but I still love you.”

He lets out the biggest sigh of relief you’ve ever heard, and his voice is filled with hope when he says, “So earlier–”

“You didn’t tell me. I was _pissed_.” You run your hand down his chest. It’s strange, but not terrible; just…unfamiliar. “We’re supposed to be partners, Steve. You’ve trusted me with so much. It hurts that you didn’t trust me with this.”

“I get that,” he says softly and takes your hand in his. “For what it’s worth, it’s not that I didn’t trust you to see me small–”

You glare at him.

“Well, not _just_ that,” he quickly corrects. “And not mostly that. I’ve been thinking about it. A lot. I wanted to call you, I wanted you here, but at the same time I didn’t want you to see me like that. Like this. But I also didn’t want you to see me panic. I…I try to be strong. I want to be strong for you, to be someone you can lean on whenever, but this whole thing– Schmidt being back; the idea that Hydra could theoretically bring _other_ people back, like Zola; that I can’t be part of the team like this, that I can’t look out for Bucky and Sam and Natasha and everyone– I…panicked. I holed up on my own for days, trying to get myself out of that headspace. I should have called you, I know that now, but I felt overwhelmed and I wanted to handle it myself.”

You take that in. “So it’s less that you were vain, and more that you were being a hyper-masculine fuckface.”

“…Yes.”

You want to scream. You settle for giving him the dirtiest damn look you can muster. “I could fucking _smother_ you right now.”

He smiles sheepishly. “I’ve learned my lesson?”

“I fucking hope so,” you say. You shake your head. “Confiding in me doesn’t undermine your authority, Steve.”

“I know.” He presses his forehead to yours. “I know that now. I should have known that before. And I swear I’ll do better. I’ve come to you about things I haven’t told Bucky. I should have trusted you with this. I’m sorry.”

You nod. He does sound contrite. “Six pounds or six-hundred pounds, if you’re still you, I’ll still love you.” Logistically, you have to add something. “But if you get to be six-hundred pounds then you need an electric wheelchair. I can only push so much.”

“What if I was just bulky? Like Hulk?”

“I’d need a bigger apartment.”

“What if you got that anyway?”

“Huh?”

Steve props himself up on his elbow to lean over you. “I wanted to ask it, that day at the park, but I chickened out. I’m not going to be a coward anymore: I love you and I want to live with you. Would you move in with me?”

This is not how you saw the day going. But it is a definite uptick to a pretty terrible middle half. You feel a little smile starting to form. “But however will you hide from me then?”

He winces. “Consider this a lesson learned.”

“Oh, it will be,” you promise, because this was a big, big thing and you are far from through. But. “Yes. I want to be with you as much as possible. I’d love to live with you.”

His smile is a beam of sunlight and he leans in to kiss you before he lies back down. “I can’t wait; I bet you’ll take over the nook by the window.”

Well it is the nicest part of his– hold up. “Why your apartment? What’s wrong with mine?”

“Well…” His smile is mischievous. “I guess we could move into your shoebox…”

“Hey,” you say and push him playfully. He moves more than you expect and that fuels all sorts of ideas. “Oh…I have not been taking advantage,” you say and get up to straddle his lap and pin his shoulders down. Steve’s eyes go wide, but there is a definite sheen of pleasure in them even before you lean down to kiss him senseless.

Later, you’re about to doze off when Steve gives you one more kiss. “I love you,” he whispers.

“Love you too,” you mumble and fall asleep easily.

 

* * *

You wake to a scream.

You jump to sit up immediately and feel Steve writhing in the bed. The lights come on and you see him thrashing, face twisted into a grimace and shining with sweat. You try to put your hand on his arm but something under the flesh _ripples_ and you yank your hand back. His body. Changing. He’s in _so much fucking pain_ you can’t hardly stand it. “Steve! Steve! JARVIS!”

The door opens and Bucky comes charging in. Steve shouts and brings his hand down on the nightstand so hard a piece breaks off. You watch in horror as Bucky wraps him up in his arms, partially restrained, and runs out.

You follow him without hesitation, and as soon as the elevator dings for the medical level you rush out with him, though he’s much faster than you. Bruce is already hurrying to one of the rooms, along with a couple other people in lab coats, and Bucky– with Steve– goes in ahead of them.

You rush, but someone– Sam– catches you by the waist. “Hey,” he says soothingly. “Let them take care of this.”

You hope the look on your face properly conveys the level of ‘are you _crazy_?!’ that you want it to. “Sam, he’s in _pain_. I have to be there for him!”

But Sam shakes his head, and Clint and Natasha flank him. You have no chance at getting in on your own now, but that doesn’t stop you from trying. “Sam, _please_!”

Steve’s scream is only barely muffled by the door and you try to tear out of Sam’s grip only for him to yank you back and say your name. “If it were you, would you want him to see you like that?”

Tears sting your eyes. “That’s not _fair_.”

“It is though,” Sam insists and holds your shoulders. Firmly, but at least he isn’t squeezing your stomach anymore. “His strength is unpredictable right now; he can be holding your hand one moment and breaking it the next. Bucky’s gonna stay with him; he’s gonna be there for him.”

That’s…nice. But it doesn’t stop you from wanting to stay. Even if you can’t be _with_ him. But when he screams again, it hurts that much more. “Was it this bad? The first time?”

“Oh yeah,” Sam says. “We, uh, learned from experience on that one. He almost broke Tony’s arm even through the suit. And you have to know how Steve would feel if he hurt you, even on accident.”

It would kill him. You sigh heavily and let the weight of it rest on your shoulders. “Fine. But after I take a shower and get dressed I am going to sit _right here_.”

“You don’t have to,” Sam says like he knows exactly how you’re going to respond to that. He’s not wrong.

“I know,” you say. “But I’m here. Good and bad all.”

 

* * *

It’s pretty bad. The screaming lessens over time, but that’s not necessarily a good thing. Luckily everyone now knows how you feel about being kept in the dark, so they keep checking in with you. They keep you company when they can, but you don’t expect them to hang around all day. You have nothing better to do. You don’t think there’s anything better for you _to_ do.

By the afternoon Bruce comes out and beckons you forward. You scramble out of the chair and run in right past him.

Bucky is leaning against the wall, looking exhausted. He gives Steve a little nod, stops to hug you, and then goes on his way. Bruce goes too, shutting the door behind him, leaving you and a sleeping Steve alone.

He’s back to his Captain America frame, but his frown stays on his face. You take the seat next to him, and run your hand over his brow. His eyes flutter, and he turns his head to look at you. “Hey,” he croaks and smiles.

“Hey yourself.” You scoot closer and kiss his forehead. “How are you feeling?”

His smile is more of a grimace, at first, but it relaxes into something truly relieved the more he looks at you. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Not coming in after me,” he says. He holds your hand and squeezes it lightly. The broad palm and long fingers are a normal feeling, but you sort of miss his spindly digits. “I’m glad you didn’t see me like that.”

You roll your eyes. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to do that?”

He’s nonplussed. “I can imagine.”

“Would _you_ have left?”

His grin turns crooked. “It’s a good thing our friends are as stubborn as we are.”

You groan, and press your forehead to this. “Steve Rogers, you are a real jerk sometimes.”

“A real lucky jerk,” he says. “Somehow I’ve got the best person to put up with me.”

“This person sounds like an idiot,” you say.

“They even agreed to move in with me.”

“And spend all their time with you? Gross.” You tilt your head to lay it on his pillow. “They must really like you, then.”

He nods. “They like Steve Rogers.” He holds your hand and squeezes. “And that’s all that matters.”

“I agree,” you murmur and allow your lips to graze his cheekbone. Those didn’t change much. “Steve Rogers is what matters.”

“And you,” he says and nuzzles your face. “Steve Rogers and you.”

Indeed.


End file.
